


Don't Walk Away

by AlwaysJohn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Early Days, Eventual Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, M/M, Somewhere in late Series 1 or early Series 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 10:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysJohn/pseuds/AlwaysJohn
Summary: A moment in time.





	Don't Walk Away

Watching from the kitchen as John ascends the stairs two at a time and disappears from his sight, Sherlock inhales sharply, suddenly afraid of what John is up to in his room, and what he will do next.

He stares blankly at the floor, completely at a loss as to how this moment has arrived. He only knew that in his chest is pained anticipation of what he is certain is about to happen.

They’d argued heatedly over something John obviously thought significant, but Sherlock had stated in no uncertain terms that he considered it illogical. What it was he couldn’t remember now because he’s too terrified that John has had enough and is leaving him forever.

Ten minutes later, John slowly descends the stairs, stopping in the middle of the sitting room and turning in a circle as though sweeping the room with his gaze for the last time. Sherlock notices the duffle he holds in one hand. All his meager possessions. He always travels light. This is it then, he thinks.

It’s all over. He’s alone again. Once it was okay to be alone, but not now. John fills in all the little nooks and crannies that he didn’t even know were empty.

The pain in John’s eyes as his gaze finally rests on him is more than Sherlock can bear. The detective knows his doctor made his decision. He’s leaving. John is leaving forever.

Without a goodbye, John walks to the door, running his fingers along the wood to rest a moment on the doorknob. Head bowed, he huffs, then sighs as only he can.

There is a small chance that he will turn around, change his mind and stay, but Sherlock doesn’t lay a wager on it. Too many words hurled in anger has reduced the odds to almost nil. John is a proud man, he doesn’t yet realise that they could have a future together, but if he walks away now, it will never happen. That thought makes Sherlock’s stomach roil, mostly because he suspects the feelings he has for John Watson just might be love?

He wants John to be happy. Part of him, the logical part, thinks he should just let John go so he can find a new life with someone who knows how to love him properly. His chest, no his heart, aches with the knowledge that he will never love again, no, if John leaves now, Sherlock decides, there will never be another love for him. He will live with the memories of the brief time they had together. He will carry the image of his only friend, his best friend, John Watson, in his heart forever.

John would call him a drama queen if he could read his thoughts. He’s at least glad that John doesn’t possess that ability.

Even as he deduces that John has made his decision, Sherlock observes the regret in his slumped shoulders, his down-turned mouth, and the sorrow in his beautiful blue eyes. His army doctor is not angry anymore, simply resigned, decision final, no turning back.

John considers the floor for several seconds longer, and then he is gone, haltingly descending the seventeen steps. Even his footsteps are filled with sorrow.

Sherlock follows, seconds behind, and reaches the street front door as it hesitates, then closes with a snap that reverberates in the entryway like a gunshot. He opens it and steps out onto the pavement, reaching out to John as the doctor grows smaller and smaller the farther away he walks.

“Don’t walk away. Don’t walk away, Don’t walk away...please. John, come back,” he calls out, even though he knows John cannot hear him any longer.

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock whispers, blinking back the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He raises one hand, fingers splayed in a final goodbye. “I never got..tell you...love...you,” he whispers, his voice broken and his heart shattered.

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he watches until John is out of sight. Not caring that anyone sees his sorrow and pain, he leans against the door, stubbornly ignoring the passersby. It’s finally happened, he tells himself. It’s over.

"I’ve driven John away. I wasn’t enough for him to stay. I’m not-” he says in a strangled voice he no longer recognises as his own.

Sherlock loses all sense of time as he stands there, hating himself, trying to make a deal with the universe, and trying very hard to believe that anything good could come of this, but his mind betrays him. The doors to where John Watson resides in his Mind Palace slam shut and lock. He will not enter them anytime soon, perhaps not ever again. The only image he holds now is that of John walking away.

Swiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, he thuds his forehead against the door just below the 221B. “I’ll do whatever I have to, just bring him home,” he says with a shuddering sigh and a sniff for good measure, a last resort to a lost cause. Sherlock blames himself, and rightly so, even as he throws out the heartfelt wish to the universe, or is it the solar system? No matter, John is forever gone now.

All his violin will play now is sad notes and a requiem for John and for himself. He decides there will be only one more movement to the composition he’d begun a month ago: The goodbye of it and all that he’s lost and the hope of what now will never be.

Sherlock knows he is wallowing, and he doesn’t much care at the moment. All is lost, all the light has gone, his conductor of light will not walk with him again. There is only darkness. It is hateful, more than tedious. John is right, he is the world’s greatest drama queen.

Sherlock startles when a hand rests between his shoulder blades. Preparing to eviscerate whomever has the audacity to step into his personal space, he pauses, holds his breath instead, remembering that John always says such behaviour is a bit not good, but John is no longer at his side to keep him right.

“Sherlock.”

It’s his imagination, he’s sure. A physical conjuring of what he wants most in the deepest part of himself.

“Sherlock.”

Fingers circle gently through his bespoke shirt. He turns slowly, not wanting to see the empty space behind him. When he finally lifts his gaze, it is to see the face he loves more than any other. He observes John’s red-rimmed eyes. He’s sure his own are, too.

“John.”

“I’m sorry.”

“John.”

“I was wrong. When I turned the corner, I knew you watching and I realised that I couldn’t remember what it was I was angry about, that it was stupid to walk away from what we have now and what we could have in the future and that made me really sad.”

“John.”

“You don’t have to change for me. Just be you with all your quirks. That’s what I love most about you. You are never boring.”

“John.”

John reaches up to swipe at Sherlock’s tears and lay his hand along his jaw, caressing a sensitive cheekbone.

“Sherlock, I..hm..listen...I?”

“I love you, John.”

Sherlock’s heart swells in his chest, literally, it seems by the way it is suddenly hard to breathe.

“You do?”

“Don’t be an idiot, John, of course I do. How could you not know?”

John’s smile is warm and a bit shy. “I guess because I’m an idiot?”

“No, John.”

“Do you want to know a secret?”

Sherlock frowns. “A Beatles song, John. Really? Right now, at this moment?”

Before his brain catches up with his body, Sherlock throws his arms around John, pulling him into an embrace he’d only dreamed about before this day.

“I love you, too,” John whispers against his ear as he is crushed against Sherlock’s chest.

As he lingers, wrapped around John, who is wrapped around him, Sherlock is vaguely aware of an old man staring at them.

“Yes? Is there a problem?” Sherlock says to the man, who is joined by a younger man, the son, Sherlock reckons by the resemblance, who takes his hand and leads him away. As the older man follows without protest, he stops mid-stride, turning back. With a tip of his head, much like John’s military-ness, he smiles.

“You can’t help who you love, but when you do love someone? Take care of it, treasure it, because when you’re not looking, it’s gone before you know it.”

Sherlock stares after them as they continue down the street. When he refocuses on John, he wears a thoughtful expression. They have learned a valuable lesson, the detective thinks.

“May I come home now?”

“Yes, please. Forever?” Sherlock says softly, taking the duffle from John’s hand and opening the door to invite John in with a gentle hand to his lower back.

“Yes, for always.”

Sherlock presses John against the door, which closes no longer with a gunshot, but a soft click. Leaning down to gaze into the depths of John’s dark blue eyes now blown wide, he gently captures the mouth he’s been yearning to kiss for what seems like forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the times I posted and then deleted this work. The formatting is not working for me. I'd be interested to know if anyone else is having a problem posting as I am getting no response from support. I had to put all the formatting in myself.


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